The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “I can control it.” Ancient One Sumati howled in pain and clutched her stomach. “Blessed be the union between our two peoples. Do not fight it.”

  Liam drew his sword and raised it to Aihara’s neck. It was then, as she heard the rasp of another sword drawn from a sheath that Sora noticed Sir Uriah Davies quietly standing guard by the door.

  “Listen to her, or I swear to Iam I will burn this tower to the ground,” Liam growled. “Prove that it is not just wickedness that springs from this place, and save our innocent child.”

  Aihara Na swallowed hard. “King Liam,” she spoke softly. “Are you asking me to call upon the gods and use their Gift?”

  “Do it, Aihara,” Liam said. “I won’t ask again.”

  “Do you not care to know the conse—”

  “I said, do it!”

  Madam Aihara approached Ancient One Sumati. “Move, girl,” Aihara ordered the handmaiden.

  “But, she—"

  “Move!”

  Aihara Na flicked her wrist, and the handmaiden slid across the floor and was pinned against the wall by an unseen force. She then placed a hand upon Ancient One Sumati’s bulging belly and began to speak low, steady words, multiple languages blending and overlapping. They grew in volume, blanketing the room and making Sora’s insides chatter, and then she raised her other hand toward Liam.

  “What are you doing?” he questioned.

  “Your will.” She touched Liam’s chest while still leaving her other hand on the mother’s stomach as if forming a conduit between them. Ancient One Sumati screamed in agony.

  “You’re hurting her !” Liam said.

  “Then you may want to close your eyes.” Aihara Na began to chant louder, and Ancient One Sumati screamed louder. Her body began to stagger, just as Sora’s vision did as she shifted within the revelations of the Well of Wisdom. Liam dropped his sword and fell to a knee. He too groaned in torment.

  “Unhand the King!” Sir Uriah Davies stormed forward but was thrown back by the aura that pulsed from Aihara Na. Ancient One Sumati’s screams grew even louder.

  “I can feel the tear,” Aihara yelled over the sound of the entire room shaking. “Madam, we must stop.”

  “No!” Madam Sumati yelled. “I can hold it.” Her neck arched, and a stream of dark red smoke forced its way through her eyes. Sora could hear whispers in a strange, demonic language echoing around her. She could feel the chill of evil even though she wasn’t there. “My life I give freely in her name! You will hold no sway over me bastards of Elsewhere.”

  “What is this place?” a familiar voice muttered. Sora spun in a circle. It undoubtedly belonged to Nesilia, and Sora soon realized that the words were being spoken through Ancient One Sumati’s lips. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “You will not pass to this realm!” Ancient One Sumati yelled.

  “Master, I can’t… hold…” Aihara Na could hardly keep her arms up anymore. Liam shouted in pain, now as loud as all the others.

  “They have forgotten me?” Nesilia spoke again. “I am buried, not dead, yet they have forgotten me!” A spectral arm extended from Ancient One Sumati’s chest which now glowed blue like the Well of Wisdom, like the smoke from Sora's healing. It lashed across the ceiling, rending a large crack.

  “Be gone!”

  A flash of light—just like the light which Sora had summoned in the Webbed Woods or on the Breklian ship—flung Aihara Na and King Liam against the wall. Even though Sora wasn’t physically present, it did the same to her. When she gathered her bearings and ran back to the bed, Ancient One Sumati was gone. Only her clothing and blood remained, and lying in a pool of it in the center of the bed was a crying infant.

  Aihara Na panted uncontrollably, unable to stand. Liam scrambled across the room and to the bed. He grasped at the sheets from his knees. “My dearest Sora, don’t do this. Come back to me. Please, Iam, hear my prayers.”

  Sora’s eyes went wide. Liam’s shoulders shook as he allowed himself to cry. He rubbed the bloody sheets against his face. “May Iam see you suited to walk through the Gate of Light,” he sniveled. He raised his quaking hands to circle his eyes in prayer, then squeezed them shut. Sora could see his lips moving as he murmured a prayer to himself. She was too shocked by the name he’d used to hear the words.

  As he cried, Aihara Na finally mustered the strength to walk over and lay a hand upon his shoulder.

  “You did this!” he roared as he spun on her.

  “At your word, I did only what I could to save the child,” she replied, not shrinking back at all in the face of the legend. “You, my King, demanded I keep this child alive. Ancient One Sora Sumati, my master, is dead because of you. Your daughter is alive through my hand because she willed it, but her heart is yours.”

  “My daughter.” His gaze snapped back to bed as if he’d forgotten about the infant. He reached out, still shaking, and lifted the crying girl. She sounded healthy, her voice strong. “My daughter.” He held her close and kissed her forehead. “She sounds healthy.”

  “She is, thanks to Sora Sumati. Elsewhere demanded a soul and so the bridge was opened. She risked everything for that child.”

  “Our child.”

  “But my master was not alone in sacrifice. The child was not meant for this world, and more sacrifice was needed in defying the fate of the gods. Sora was too weak from preserving your daughter’s life for so long in the womb, so the child is alive only by your lifeblood, sharing your heart. As she grows, you will pass from this life. Only in her death can you be free of this bond.”

  “This cannot be,” Liam said, breathless.

  “It is. You will gray long before your time. Your mind will become fitful and be filled with unrest, and eventually, you will find yourself present only in body. That is the price you agreed to, my King. A soul for Elsewhere, and a heart for a bastard daughter.”

  Without even a sound or warning, the world frayed again, and Sora stood on an unfamiliar street in Yaolin City. It was night, No, not night. Celeste and Loutis covered the sun. The Dawning.

  Once again, King Liam stood next to her, surrounded by men wearing the white of the King’s Shield.

  “Leave us!” the King shouted. His men clomped away, leaving Liam standing beside Aihara Na who now wore a hooded red robe. With Master Sumati’s death, it appeared she had taken on the role of eldest in the Mystic Order.

  “I only trust you because I trusted her, you know that right?” Liam said.

  Aihara Na nodded.

  “Do not make me regret it,” Liam warned.

  “Your trust is well-placed, my King,” she said. “If you claim the child publicly, it will only draw questions. She cannot rule in your world as a woman anyway. This is best.”

  “No one will know?”

  “None.”

  “Send wagons filled with Panpingese war refugees all over the realm. Make it seem like she is any other. Place her with someone you trust to keep her safe, in a place no one cares about at all. Never tell me where she is and I will never ask.”

  Liam looked down at his daughter, swaddled in a cloth in his arms. She had his amber-hued eyes. He stroked her fine, black wisps of hair. “Daughter or son, you are my first, and I do this to protect you,” he whispered. “I fear what I might do as my mind slips should I know where you are, so I mustn’t.” He held her out so he could look upon her in her entirety.

  “So much like your mother,” he smiled. “We will never see each other again, but know this; when you are grown, and I pass from this world, I give my heart willingly, as your mother gave hers. Iam saw fit to give you this second chance, born on the Dawning as if you, my Sora, are my light from within. You will find greatness. It is in your blood.”

  He kissed her on the forehead, and then another gut-wrenching pull made the world fold inward and brought Sora before the Red Tower. Now it was true night.

  “Do it now!” King Liam shouted.

  Sora turned back to the tower to see all the mystics, hu
ndreds of them, on their knees on the small island beneath the tall, red structure. Each of them was held in place at the tip of a King’s Shieldsman’s sword. Uriah Davies had his against Aihara Na’s neck.

  “My King, please do not do this,” Aihara Na begged from her knees, her hands cuffed.

  “Call it what you will, but your magic is no different from the Drav Cra,” Liam said. “I shall let no other share my fate.”

  “Your Grace, this is what you wanted.”

  “And I thank you for it. Know that because of your master, I do not do this out hate, but out of love.”

  “You call this love?” Aihara Na shouted. “We have sealed the tower for good. Cut off our connection to the Well. What else could we possibly do to keep you happy?”

  Uriah kneed the small of her back, and she fell to her face. He barked at her to stay quiet. Liam kneeled to whisper in her ear. “Nothing. But so long as any of you know of my daughter, she is not safe. Not from me, not from you.”

  Liam rose to face his men. “We have tried peace, but Iam has made it clear to me, we cannot possibly coexist with these heathens. Their time presiding over Panping has come to an end. We will not share our rule.”

  He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, then looked to his Wearer of White. “Uriah, do it.”

  It was all he needed to say.

  Before most of the mystics could react, they had glaruium blades shoved through their throats. Most of them folded to the ground, dead and covered in the very blood that gave them power. But Madam Aihara and a few others—Madam Jaya among them, resisted. Aihara Na’s chains turned to ice and shattered. She stabbed one of the shards into Uriah’s leg and fled onto the lake. The water solidified beneath her every step. A few others killed Shieldsmen to escape, including Madam Jaya.

  “Find them and kill them!” Liam demanded. “The Mystic Order is over.” His men raced to their boats and set off after the dozen or so escaped mystics. Others fired arrows across the lake. One raced toward Madam Jaya.

  Sora yelled out to warn Madam Jaya when the ground suddenly vanished, and Sora felt herself falling. Letters and symbols from every language in Pantego blew past her. She landed with a splash, the familiar scent of boiling flowers in the air. Then she emerged from the Well of Wisdom, gasping for air.

  In the present, Aihara Na, Madam Jaya, Master Huyshi, and the four other surviving mystics stood at the edge of the waters looking down at her, faces wracked by concern. “Sora, are you all right?”

  She wanted to respond, but couldn’t find the words. The truth was almost too much to bear.

  XXX

  THE KNIGHT

  The Queen Mother’s white mare was as feisty as she was, but she was as advertised—faster than any horse Torsten had ever ridden. He sat up front on her saddle, snapping the reins as he shouted for the crowd outside Yarrington to part in the name of the Queen Mother.

  Faces smeared with luminescent paint were everywhere. The cold didn’t matter. All the pious souls of Yarrington and beyond gathered in knots to witness this yearly ritual when they were tested in the darkness. Priests gave sermons on every hillside and promontory. Only they weren’t alone. Warlock rituals and sacrifices were scattered amongst them attended by masked cultists while Drav Cra civilians sold furs.

  It was a sight Torsten never thought he'd witness, and one he’d make sure he never did again. Allying with the barbarians and heathens of the North was one thing, but inviting them and exiled cultists to participate in this holiest of day, one in which they even didn’t believe was another. It was like he’d gone to the dungeons and stepped out into an Elsewhere itself—his own personal exile.

  “Would you go faster?” Oleander said. “The Dawning approaches, and whatever my brother plans to show my son, I don’t trust him.” She sat at Torsten’s back, arms wrapped around his waist. It had taken a long time, but Torsten finally felt all those hours catering to her every need was worth it. She was the only ally he had left who saw Redstar for the monster he was.

  “I’m trying,” Torsten replied. He pulled on the reins to dart around a mob, then nearly toppled over a line of dwarves who'd scurried in front of them. The mare reared back, and Oleander tightened her hold. Torsten and the leader of the dwarven group met gazes momentarily. It was Oathbreaker, Oarbringer—Tosten couldn’t remember his name—but he knew it was the construction foreman working to repair the Royal Crypt. The little men darted beneath the horse’s belly, and Torsten grabbed Oleander’s wrist tight.

  “The next fool that gets in our way,” Oleander snapped, “plow them over!”

  Torsten didn’t listen, but he weaved his way to the bottom of the trail leading up the mountain. A warlock and a handful of Drav Cra warriors camped in the path. Two dire wolves lay perched on an outcrop of rock beside them, chewing the meat off the bones of some poor animal. Torsten brought the horse to a halt in front of them.

  “Sorry, nobody gets by,” the biggest of the warriors said, standing and hefting an axe with both hands. “Orders from the Arch Warlock.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Oleander questioned.

  “Fresh meat?”

  “You insolent—”

  “Let me handle this.” Torsten stopped her from hopping off the horse and doing something stupid. “You speak with the Queen Mother. She wishes to spend the first Dawning after his miracle rebirth with her son.”

  The warrior sneered. “We’re especially not supposed to let her pass.”

  “I suggest you reconsider. She isn’t known for leniency.”

  “You think we’re afraid of the ‘Flower of the Drav Cra?’ You should try meeting a real Northern woman.”

  “Stop wasting breath!” Oleander kicked the sides of her horse, and it darted forward. Torsten caught his balance on the reins with one hand and drew his claymore from his back sheath with the other. It slit the warlock’s neck as it slipped free, and as the heathen toppled over, fire sprayed from his hand in an explosive blast, blowing back the Drav Cra warriors.

  “Get them!” one roared.

  The pounding paws and barking that followed were all too familiar sounds. After his trek to the Webbed Woods with Whitney, he hoped never to be caught fleeing dire wolves again, but he’d hoped for much that hadn’t come to pass. He spurred Oleander’s horse around the first sharp turn on switchbacks.

  “You’re worse than Fierstown!” Torsten shouted back at Oleander. “Next time warn me.”

  “It’s your sacred duty to know every want and need of your Queen,” she replied.

  “I’m no longer a Shieldsman.”

  “You’re as much one as I am a Queen.”

  A snarl made the hair’s on Torsten’s neck stand on end. Oleander squeezed him harder, and he glanced back to see the two dire wolves bounding after them. Their maws snapped, saliva flinging, and their yellow eyes pierced the white of the snow-coated slope.

  They had a lead on the beasts, but the ground was slick, and every time the horse took a turn, the wolves claws allowed them to dig in and take it sharper. Heavy flakes of snow pelted Torsten’s face as they ascended higher, and through a break in the clouds, he saw that both moons were now visible, edging ever closer to eclipse the sun.

  “Grotesque beast!” Oleander yelped.

  Torsten glanced back as they took another corner and saw one of the wolves literally chomping at her heels. Its head was the size of Oleander's torso, and one bite would rip her foot clean off.

  “We’ll never make it up with them after us!” Torsten yelled.

  “I hadn’t realized!” She squealed as the wolf snapped at the bottom of her dress and tore off a shred. Torsten grabbed her so the force of the bite wouldn’t yank her from the saddle. Then he stretched her hands around him and slotted the reins into her palms.

  “I’ll handle them,” Torsten said. “When I let go, don’t stop.”

  “What? I am your Queen, and I order you to—”

  As the horse dug in to make the next turn, Torsten pushed off the side
. He flew through the air, slamming into the dire wolf trailing behind which hadn’t yet made the turn. He plunged his claymore into its chest, squeezing the handle with all his might. They skidded to a stop at the edge of the rocky path, a hands-length from plummeting together to their doom.

  The wolf howled, and its head lilted off to the side, but Torsten’s gambit paid off. Wolves were pack animals, and as he stood and slid his blade out of the beast, he saw that the other wolf had stopped in its pursuit of Oleander to face him. Torsten set his feet and tightened his grip. They were a long way up the mountain now, where the slope began to sharpen and grow rocky. The wolf glared down at him from the incline, claws digging into the snow, eyes like ice.

  Torsten looked over his shoulder. At his back was certain death, and at his front, a wolf the size of a bovine, with fangs as long as his forearm.

  “Come beast!” he bellowed. “I will not be stopped by you.”

  The horrifying creature prepared to pounce, but just as its hind legs left the ground Oleander’s Whitehair's back hooves kicked it in the side. True to its name, the mare was as white as the snow and close to invisible on the trail. The wolf scrambled to find a grip with razor-sharp claws, but the snow was too slick, and it tumbled over the ledge. Bouncing its way down, its whimpers echoed, no doubt drawing the attention of many a pilgrim. Torsten didn’t waste time seeing how far it went.

  “Must I handle everything?” Oleander called down.

  “I told you not to stop!”

  “And you promised to kill my brother. Now hurry up, it’s freezing.”

  Torsten stowed Salvation on his back and jogged up to the horse. Oleander didn’t slide back to make room for him to take the reins. “She listens better to me,” she said. “Keep me warm, knight.”

  After she likely saved his life, there wasn’t much Torsten could say. He pulled himself up behind her, and they took off through the snow and freezing wind.

  Up they went until the silence of the mountain grew more unnerving than the snarling wolves. The higher they climbed, the straighter the path became, no longer slicing back and forth but instead was carved around the entire circumference of the mountain. They passed the top entry to the glaruium mine and Torsten could see the glow of the rare element through the cracks. In its natural form, it glimmered in the darkness like stars compressed into stone.